


fog

by saturnzbathz



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Depression, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, im just venting, this is barely even a gorillaz fic honestly, this is really negative ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnzbathz/pseuds/saturnzbathz
Summary: A series of events that have put a strain on the relationship between the reader and 2d.





	fog

You’re not really sure exactly when everything had become so irreversibly fucked up.

Maybe it was the time he first realized you had a problem. He already knew about the scars that littered your wrists, the scars you swore would never be joined by fresh ones. You lied, of course. You were good at that. And so, when he found the bloody tissues in the garbage, he confronted you. You cried and he held you close and you promised it wouldn’t happen again. He cried when he saw what you did to yourself and how you marred your thighs with wide, deep cuts that would never heal right. When you look at those scars now you can’t help but think of the way he gently ran his fingertips over your broken skin, and afterwards when he cleaned and bandaged up your self-destruction. You never understood why he thought you deserved kindness. You still don’t.

Maybe it was the night he woke you up because the cuts on your arms that you thought had stopped bleeding had reopened in your sleep.

“Y/N, wake up, please.” You remembered how strained his voice sounded, cutting through the fog of your dreams and waking you up. “Please, Y/N, there’s blood everywhere.” You opened your eyes to see his face, framed by blue hair clumped in places with dried blood. Your blood. _Your_ blood, which had leaked out and covered everything near you, including him. You had always hated how your addiction managed to overpower everything you loved.

It could have been the time he took you to the hospital after you told him you needed stitches. You heard his breath catch in his throat when the nurse pushed up your sleeve. He watched her close up the gashes that littered your arm. When you got back home later that night, he watched you struggle to cut off your hospital bracelet and then toss it in the trash. He held you close and you cried because you didn’t feel like you deserved his kindness. You stood there for a while, his heart beating against your chest, and he whispered how much he loved you into your ear.

Maybe it was the time he found you passed out, bleeding out, on the bathroom floor. He called 911 and you remember how scared he sounded on the phone, and you hated yourself even more for making him feel that way. When the EMT’s were helping you walk out of your apartment, you saw how he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, one hand covering his mouth. He rode in the ambulance with you, but he didn’t say a word.

And now he panics when you’re in the bathroom for too long, or when he finds bloody tissues in the trash. He tells you that he dreams of that night he found you passed out in the bathroom, and in some twisted way, it makes you want to relapse because it reminds you of how much you’ve fucked everything up.

You wonder if he actually loves you, or if he’s still with you because he’s too afraid to dump you.


End file.
